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The Runt and The God
Two children screaming and crying, a large vicious brute swinging and slamming fists down on them... bottles down on them... a baseball bat in one case. Screaming and shouting - accusing them of things they don't understand. Praying and no answer, no help. Every night, over and over, tears on their faces. They shouldn't be awake, they should be in bed, it was demanded they were in bed and now the harsh boot is coming down on them for daring to play their 'god games' past the time they should sleep. There's a third child there, loved and cared there, placed above them - watching as the smaller ones are beaten. The runt, the smallest gets it the worse. One time it was even a knife... The brute attended the wounds himself, noone else was allowed to see those knife wounds. Noone else was allowed to see the runt, not till he recovered. And if he dared take a foot outside before he was recovered the brute came with more fists, reopening the wounds, restarting the abandonment process. Running now, running, and screaming and crying, the runt moving from the undergrowth - leaving the other two children with the brute. But fear, fear and returning, and running again. The brute is dead. The childrens father dead, and no more blames, no more blames come from him for a parents murder, for now, now they HAVE comitted a parents murder, now the parent is dead he is not there to make the accusations of his death or that of another. More shifting images. Running. Screaming. Crying. The father dead. The runt escaping. He was on his own now. In the streets. Making his own way. Each box, lamppost, street corner a resting place. Discovery. Lies and deception, creation at the tip of fingers. Testing and trying. A way to make food, to make ends meet. Only way. Lying and decieving - still starving. Hungry, on the street. Mostly dehydrated. Help from noone. Praying again, praying day in, day out. No answer. More and more lies, the only way through. Becoming a worse person... a liar, a deciever... survival. Bones still showing, wounds from being beaten. The runt going cold. Physically. Emotionally. Nightmares and dreams. The brute still accusing, still accusing in death. The runt wasn't meant to be. Only meant to be one. Were the gods fixing this? A mistake? Trying to drag three back to one. Still no response to asking, to praying. Time to stop. No gods, no morals. More lies and deception. Just enough. Enough to live. Enough to justify existence. Being born. The brute screaming in the back of his mind. The gods are dead. Or dead to the world. The focus shifted. More people. Other people. A group. In a church. Praying for a better life. Nothing. Another church. Nothing. Shrines, churches, ruins, a prayer to every god. Nothing. They fall to praying to old abandoned ruins. Gods long forgotten. Uknown. They can do nothing. They've tried everything for themselves, and life is horrible. Noone to help, listen, care. Runt again. He's running. The lies have gone wrong. Been seen through. Broken. He's limping. They've hurt him again. Numb to pain by now. Felt it too long. The brutes words still ringing. Hears them every day. They've become meaningless. Life has mostly become meaningless. The runt escapes. Woods. Ruins, long abandoned. The group stand there. Praying. No response. They're like him... he wants to help. And he does. He does whatever he can. He has little to give... he's a liar, a cheat. The runt is starved and homeless. But he gives all he can to them. Praise. An answer to prayers. Understanding. Care. NEEDED. The more help, the more praise. Piling up as the answer - the god from the abandoned ruins. The helper. The runt is now the god. The serving god. Feeding... Building... Helping... The brutes words are fading. The runt was nothing. The god has purpose. The god serves, and helps. Spreads influence, to help more. Further, and further into the city. More people. Abandoned by gods. Prayers unanswered. He listens - he tries to answer. He doesn't always succeed. There are problems. People have died. The god is an imperfect being. It tries. Influence spreads further. Familiar faces. The other victim child. The one who slayed the brute. A saving act. A destroying act. The victim child has become the new brute. The devil. The devil the god must stop... But the devil the god cannot. He threatens... He tries to make deals. Gods people endangered by the devil. The new brute recreates the runt. A scared child. But still god to his people. He cannot be any less. The other child reappears... the wanted child. The cold child. Blame is laid - he makes accusations, an echo of the first brute. But the runt does not return. The god fights... Till the runt runs. More threats are made - sent from the devil and the echo. The god cannot do anything, for to them, he is still the runt. He must protect his people. Remain their god. But it costs. The god cares - but cannot allow them to care back. Not too much. He lies. He knows. He knows he is the runt. The god does not exist. It only exists to the people. The runt wants to be with his people, but the god is in the way. The god cannot be truly with his people, because he does not exist. But the people need the god. So the runt hides. The runt sees noone, speaks to none, to allow the god to be. To keep his people safe. The runt is sacrificed of all joy... The god stands tall. For his people. And he hates it. Category:Dregan Category:Tales And Stories Category:Directory